This is War!
by Hattiakourri
Summary: First, there was "Pickles." Then there was "Composure." But now, it's war. Who's going to win? non-yaoi Rated M for possible strong language.
1. Challenge

This story is for **Konoha Ninja 123**, whose support and encouragement is the sole reason this story exists. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ. I did, Dragonball Z would have been a lot funnier, and there would have been 40% more Piccolo and 80% more Vegeta. Take that, Toei!

On with the fic!

~*~ Hattiakourri ~*~

This is War!

_Chapter 1: Challenge_

A sopping wet Saiya-jin swept into his private apartment like a black thunderstorm, his thoughts seething and his cheeks burning, despite the cold shivers that rattled his bones.

"_Damn you_," the Saiyan prince snarled, trembling miserably. His teeth were chattering like a stupid beaver, and water was dribbling off of his eyebrows and out of his hair… even worse, his soaked training gear clung to his frame like a wet paper sack, and the building's air conditioner was working exceptionally well today…

Vegeta's normally abysmal luck had been made exponentially worse by the fact that his insufferable blue-haired housemate had apparently decided to take an hour-long shower, using every last drop of hot water in the entire house.... Even worse, the itchy chlorinated water was setting his skin ablaze and he was forced to make the choice between peeling off his own skin and hosing himself down with ice-water.

He chose the latter. His skin would take too long to come back.

Three minutes later, he came flying out of the shower, darting for the safety of his warm cotton duvet, cocooning himself inside its warmth—and laying plans for revenge….

"Stupid, repulsive Namekian scum…" he grumbled bitterly. "He has more in common with a fucking fern than a human being…" Swaddled in his warm blanket, the sopping Saiya-jin rose to his feet, trying to quell his sudden urge to commit homicide.

It was very difficult. A dead Piccolo seemed to be an attractive proposition at the moment…

_How petty! How… simple-minded, _Vegeta seethed._ That overgrown pickle thought he had to get back at me for that stupid—_

…_wait a minute. Overgrown pickle._

…

_Oh._

_Was that supposed to be __**revenge**__ for that petty little incident with the pickles? Was that what THAT was supposed to be? Was that half-ass, juvenile stunt (annoying as it was) supposed to be some little play at payback?_

"_**Ha!**_ Damn fool doesn't know what the hell _revenge_ is!" he sneered, rising to his feet. His lips twisted in a cold sneer as he rose to his feet and looked to the window, where the sun was beginning to fall in the sky.

_I'll show him revenge._

_I'll show him how it's done! _

I'll make him _sorry_ that he ever messed with the likes of _**me**_.

"Namek… the gauntlet has been thrown, and you have sealed your own doom. _This is __**war**__!_" he bellowed with his most commanding tone, abandoning his bed sheet to don his armor. He had work to do, a Namek to destroy, and dignity to reclaim!

Just then, Bulma walked in with the laundry.

"Whaaa?! Vegeta? What the hell—where are your clothes?!"

"DAMN IT!"

Just his luck.

~*~

A wonderful start to a plan that we all know will work so well…. XD


	2. Peace and Quiet

Disclaimer: Is it really necessary for me to write a disclaimer? I mean, this is _**Fan**__fiction. net_, is it not?

Let's go!

~*~ Hattiakourri ~*~

This is War!

Chapter Two: Peace and Quiet

Bunny's so-called "Clock Garden" was a place of quiet solitude that was rare to find. The tall, pruned hedged blocked out the noise of the surrounding city, and kept prying eyes away, as the beds of well-kept flowers ensconced within traced the path of the roving sun overhead. The garden was one of the most isolated places on the premises, and few people ever ventured into it, making it the perfect sanctuary for a soul bent on uninhibited reflection.

As a test of his senses, Piccolo closed his eyes, feeling around with his enhanced senses to identify the things around him. He could smell the fragrant homemade potpourri Mrs. Briefs was brewing, which smelt heavily of fresh lavender and chamomile harvested from this very garden. The smell was soothing and rich-- Pleasant, even.

He could feel the warm breeze gust over his skin from the west, carrying faint traces of damp ocean mist and clouded pollen from the wooded hills on the seashore.

He then reached out with his most powerful sense, sifting through the many subtle sounds that seemed to flow around him in an unending stream. He could hear the soft clinking of silverware from the bistro on the other side of the avenue, the clinking of ice in a pitcher of freshly-made tea was like a bell chime. The short, metallic chirps of a pair of cardinals, the soft cooing of pigeons, and….

….

_What was that noise?_

It was a soft sound that was barely audible (even to him), but had snuck its way into his ears, scattering his inner calm away like a cloud of skittish butterflies.

*wheeeeeeeeet*

It was a bit louder now, coming from his left. It was a little intrusive. A little annoying. It sounded vaguely like a bird call, but it was one he was unfamiliar with. He decided to ignore it, and return to his previous exercise.

He tried to trace the pleasant noise of birds again, but as the birds scattered in a flutter of feathers and wing beats. He focused on the sounds of the soft breeze as it whistled through the branches of the trees… and…and it…

…it was…

*wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet-whooooo*

It was _DAMNED ANNOYING_!

The high pitch of the whistling noise was starting to bother his sensitive ears. All pretenses at inner peace had vanished as his anger came bubbling to the fore. His ears had begun to twitch, and his antennae thrashed furiously, searching the air currents for the source of the painful racket.

*wheeeeeeeeeeet-whoooooooooooo-tweeeeeee!*

The whistle had picked up in both volume and speed, needling into his ears like a bee sting. He was trying to trace the ki of the scumbag responsible, but the vibration of the horrid noise seemed to jumble his thoughts like a scrambled egg… he felt disjointed and mixed up as the vibrations grew more and more strident.

Suddenly, it stopped. A second of blissful silence had cleared the air and gave him a second of relief…

…But relief was not to be.

_***TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!* **_

The horrid noise sounded like a cracking gunshot ripping through his ears, as all of his conscious thought scattered to the wind. Unintelligible babble came spewing out of his mouth as he fought the urge to faint. He could feel warm purple blood trail out of his ears as the worst headache he could imagine tore through his skull.

Mysteriously, all he could think about at that moment were ducks.

Piccolo could hear his aggressor's assault devolve into braying laughter—which was immediately recognizable. The tone, the harsh bark, the sibilant chuckles. There was only one person he knew who sounded like that—

And he was standing right in front of him.

"Vegeta," Piccolo growled, baring his sharp teeth at the insufferable wretch that seemed to find his torture amusing. "I'll kill your sorry ass for this…."

"I have no doubt that you'll try, Babbles!" Vegeta snickered as he meandered away. "Good luck with that!"

An hour later, his ears had stopped ringing and he was finally able to think straight. However, there was a problem. Unlike _certain __**other**_ people, Piccolo had standards and he wasn't as infantile as to participate in a battle of witlessness as Vegeta seemed apt to do…

…but there was another problem. With this particular adversary, refusal to participate would do nothing but make him a more attractive target. Pacifism would get him nowhere—he was obligated to take a stand.

Who knows, maybe if he got the Saiyan particularly well, maybe the little shit would leave him alone. At the very least, he might just get some dirt to hang over his head for future use. Blackmail was a very useful tool for one as cunning as he.

_The Saiyan had thought he had won the war, hmm?_

_He'd show him. He'd give him his comeuppance._

"Vegeta—you brought this on yourself."

With that single declaration, he stalked off toward the residential building. He had a counterattack to plot.

~*~

________________________________________________________________________

While I was originally planning to post chapter three, I had gotten busy and haven't gotten around to editing it to my satisfaction yet. It will be up by Wednesday—cross my heart. : )

~*~ Hats ~*~


	3. Secret Agent Piccolo

Yes, it's here! Hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Wish I did. Happy, Toei?

Let's go!

~*~ Hattiakourri~*~

**This is War! **

**Chapter 3: Secret Agent Piccolo**

Piccolo may have said that he was going to give as good as he got, but unfortunately, there was something of a problem; being as straight-laced as he was, he did not have a lot of experience at playing "practical jokes" (he didn't have the slightest clue about what was practical about them). He understood the general gist of the practice, but with his lack of knowledge about his foe, he was unable to draw up a decent plan.

His only option would be reconnaissance. He would just have to search high and low through the compound to find something he could use, and get it all set up before the Saiyan caught on to him.

_How best to strike a Saiyan?_

_That's easy._

_Food._

He may not know anything about Vegeta, but he knew that food was important to Saiyans. So the kitchen would logically be the best place to look.

Piccolo had been lost in thought when he sensed movement ahead of him. Noticing that it was Mrs. Briefs, he detoured into the nearest room. It would not do well to be seen by her; as chummy as she seemed to be with Vegeta, she might tip him off, and Piccolo would be back to square one. _But what could he—_

"Piccolo?"

Piccolo jumped at the sudden noise. _Shit! I thought I was alone in here!_

Slowly turning to face whoever had addressed him, he was embarrassed to find that he has stumbled into the biochemistry laboratory—and that the old doctor was staring right at him.

"Do you need something, son?"

With a dark glare, he whirled on the Doctor. "DO NOT CALL ME YOUR SON!" he shouted roughly and stiffly stalked off, mortified, his cheeks flaming emerald.

"…weird," Dr. Briefs mumbled, turning back to his work. "Young people these days…"

When he reached the kitchen, he noticed that Bunny was already preparing dinner—a large stewpot filled with a very fragrant meat sauce sat on the stove, simmering on low heat as a large pot of spaghetti softened up.

He began to rummage through cabinets, on the lookout for something useful. In one cabinet, he found boxes of cereal and grains-- worthless. Coffee, tea, powdered milk, canned goods. All useless for his purposes. Salt, pepper, Sriracha sauce. He could probably do something with those, but he didn't think that it was exactly wise. Putting salt in the sugar dispenser was a questionable option, because he wasn't even sure Vegeta drank coffee. The Sriracha sauce probably wouldn't work either, because it would taint the entire meal and the whole family would catch on to him. Unless he was planning to prop the pot of mushy spaghetti noodles above Vegeta's doorway, it was becoming clear that the kitchen wasn't going to be a big help.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Mrs. Briefs flounce down the hallway, twittering a sweeping line of _Hummeresque,_ probably popping in to check on the sauce. Instead of hanging around to be fussed over however, he decided to flee out of the window, and steal up to the second floor. He'd probably get some better results up there.

He found himself wandering into the residence hallway, where all of the large family bedrooms were clustered together. The stucco walls in this hallway had been painted a milky pastel yellow, and the overt cheeriness of the polka-dotted teacup paintings hanging all over the place was a little intimidating…

Since he had no idea of whose room was where, he just selected the door closest to him and went on in.

He had a pretty good idea of whose room it was the second he stepped into it—the stucco walls were painted a soft, satiny pink, frilly lace curtains framed the windows, and the lilac bedspread was disheveled and messed up. Bulma's room, obviously. _What a slob._

As he wandered the room in thought, the smallest sound hit his ears.

___That could only mean one thing…_

_Someone's coming,_ he thought frantically as his eyes darted back and forth, searching desperately for a place to hide.

That's when _she_ came in.

"I'm _sooooo_ glad you found that nice new boutique on fifth," Mrs. Briefs gushed as she rifled through her daughter's shopping bags. "I know that you're not a big fan of couture, but Sayre's _so_ talented, and I just knew that yellow sundress would look _so charming_ on you!"

"It _would_ be, if my hair didn't look like a damned disco throwback!" Bulma hissed, chucking her bags on the bed and storming around the room. "I swear, never again will I tell Marco to get creative. Thank god he gave me the perm-killer."

"Isn't that nice. Say, that sweet Vegeta will be in for dinner soon… maybe you should get washed up, and wear your nicest dress to dinner,_ hmmmm_?"

"_Okay_, Mom," she huffed, tired of her mother's heavy-handed hint-dropping. "I'll be right down."

"Perfect, dear. He'll be waiting, I just know it," the blonde squealed, skipping downstairs as if she were striding through the clouds.

Bulma, however wasn't as giddy. The entire time she had been in her room, she felt strange, like she was being watched. Something about her room was off—maybe it was her armoire, which seemed to sit a foot farther forward than normal. Shaking off the odd feeling, she meandered downstairs after her mother—she wasn't exactly looking forward to sharing dinner with Vegeta… but it seemed to be unavoidable.

­­­

As soon as she left, Piccolo came flying out from behind the armoire—mildly disturbed at what he had just heard—but pleased as well. He dug through the bags on her bed and grinned when he found his prize: a bottle of salon shampoo called _Limp Locks_.

The back read_:" Takes the frizz and the bounce out of even the poofiest hair, __**Limp Locks**__ is the perfect way to ditch the perm and start out with a new you!"_

It had possibilities, but it wasn't enough….

Luckily, something else he had found in Mrs. Briefs' bathroom would do just nicely…

At 6:30 in the evening, Vegeta decided that his training was over for the day—he seemed to have pulled every single muscle in his right arm, a nasty little cold seemed to have set in on him, and he was hungry. All in all, it seemed that it was time to call it a day.

His sense of smell had been completely trashed over the course of the day, but he knew that he smelled rank. He felt scummy and sweaty, and he was sure that it wouldn't help his image any if he showed up at the dinner table looking like a bloody bum.

_A trip to the shower was in order._

Hopping into the hot spray, he quickly set about his business, popping open his bottle of dandruff shampoo and smearing it on without a second thought. He let the foamy shampoo work its magic in his grubby hair as he closed his eyes and relaxed his overworked mind.

After he rinsed off, he felt like a million bucks.

When he looked into the mirror, however, all he could feel like was—

"_**SHIT!!!"**_

Bulma was suppressing a giggle as she picked at her dinner plate. "So, Vegeta… how was your day…."

The withering glare he shot at her from underneath the brim of his hat only encouraged the table to start erupting in shushed chuckles.

"…besides that."

"Shit, shit, shit. Story of my life."

Watching the whole scene from the comfort of the serene blackness outside, Piccolo couldn't help but feel like he had claimed victory. He had won the battle, and even if the Saiyan chose to retaliate, he was fairly certain that he would still win the war.

_Certainly, he wouldn't forget this day for a long time,_ he mused, casting a glance down to the object in his hands—

A bottle of carrot-orange hair color.

…

_**Now the REAL battle begins…**_

Poor Vegeta—Double Whammy!!!

Vegeta Strikes Back on Sunday! Keep your eyes peeled!


	4. Mole Isn't Just in Mexican Food

Jeez…. I just got over being sick…. Dyslexia also seems to be making a run at me today…. rrg. -_-;

My disclaimer can bite me today. In fact, I think it just did. ((O_O;))

**Go **_**big**_** or go **_**home!**_

…

You'll see.

~*~ Hattiakourri~*~

**This is War!**

Chapter Four: Mole Isn't Just in Mexican Food 

"Oh, Vegeta—I almost didn't see you there," an effervescent Mrs. Briefs chimed as she strapped on her gardening gloves. "Your hair's such a lovely color; it blends in with the chrysanthemums."

"Oh joy," Vegeta grumbled, a plastic grin twisting his lips as he anxiously bated back and forth. Spending an entire morning assisting the Old Woman with her gardening was definitely NOT his idea of a good time. The only reason he was out here was that Bulma would refuse to repair his training equipment unless he followed the twittering blonde around like a faithful manservant. It was nothing short of humiliating.

Unfortunately for him, Bunny never missed an opportunity to congratulate him on his new hairstyle (which apparently seemed to be quite "lovely"), consistently comparing the bright hue of his freshly-dyed hair to the dazzling colors of autumn, which seemed to be bewitching the world with its rustic charms.

_It had certainly bewitched __**her.**_

_She wouldn't shut up!_

Heading out to the landscaping shed, Mrs. Briefs dug out a pair of narrow-bladed garden shovels and her trusty red wheelbarrow. "Honey, can you take these out to the South garden, near the pear tree? I want to plant my chrysanthemums and my crape myrtles over there, but I need to check something first…" she rambled as she dialed her cell phone, punching the numbers with her trademark glee.

…

He surmised that she must go through cell phones like he went through cupcakes.

No longer listening to the conversation she was having on the phone, Vegeta trundled out to the indicated spot, mulling over his disastrous hair _…incident._ While the majority of it was crammed under the brown corduroy hat he had swapped from Bulma's bedroom (It was the least feminine one he could find), his hair was long and fine enough to spill out in wisps around his ears and the nape of his neck. The hideous color was visible for blocks, and was bright enough to see on a moonless night… even worse, even the slightest peek into a mirror made him think of Son flipping-Goku. _._

_It was sickening._

…_Nameks Suck._

At least he went against Bulma's suggestion to re-dye his hair—he figured that with his shitty luck, he'd come out of the process looking like a silly neon skunk. _No thank you, _he mulled with a grimace_. As bad as it is, I'll take what I've got._

Bunny came flouncing to him from the other side of the garden with a grin on her face. "Hello again, precious," she twittered, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Let's plant our trees and our shrubs and slap on the new sod, so we can go inside and have a nice cup of hot chocolate."

Still cringing from Bunny's display of completely unwarranted affection, he reluctantly agreed. After all, who didn't like hot chocolate?

*Two minutes later*

_IT'S NOT WORTH IT._

As they got underway with their project, Bunny began chattering about a myriad of pointless things— the fantastic Autumn Social she had attended with the other ladies of the neighborhood, how positively sweet he looked in corduroy, how she needed to start baking her famous pumpkin muffins for the trick-or-treaters… most of her prattling, he had ignored. It had little relevance, and either made him hungry… or confused.

When she brought up her conversation on the phone, however, he became all ears.

"He looked up the map of the pipelines, and he cleared us to dig here. I wasn't quite sure, because I know that the sewer pipeline runs through the yard nearby—but it's far enough away that…"

Well…maybe he wasn't _all_ ears. Listening to her gab on about anything and everything would drive even angels to drink. His tolerance was—naturally-- _much_ lower.

But what little he did listen to gave him an idea. When he began to eye the garden cart with the carpets of fresh grass, a wicked light sprung to his eyes—and he never once thought about how odd it was that dirt could inspire such mischievous thoughts….

Piccolo was not doing so well.

When he'd executed his daring counter-attack the previous week, he had felt like the King of the World (only taller and less hairy). It was the perfect attack on his Saiyan enemy, who was known to be particularly vain. The extremely luminous hair dye that he had filched from Bunny's bathroom cabinet had been the perfect double-whammy—not only was it garish and hideous enough to offend Vegeta's very conservative sensibilities, the color would stand as a constant reminder of his hated rival.

It was perfect.

…_Now what?_

Piccolo was literally driving himself crazy with paranoia. He knew that the insult to Vegeta's pride was guaranteed to elicit a retaliation of his own. Very naturally, he wanted to avoid the inevitable assault, but the fact that he knew little about the unpredictable Saiyan prevented him from knowing what signs to look for. If it had been Gokou, he would have simply hung a rope trap in a tree or propped up a box with a stick. Vegeta, however, was light-years more intelligent, and his method of attack would more than likely come out of nowhere.

He sniffed every water bottle he drank, expecting the familiar tang of _Green-Gro_ to flood his nostrils.

No dice.

He was careful to inspect all the doors he opened, cautious of possible buckets propped on the doorway above. Granted, it seemed like a Gokou-grade prank, but it was possible that Vegeta would do it to outsmart him by doing precisely the thing he thought he wouldn't do…!

….confusing. Obviously, he wasn't in his right frame of mind.

…

But he sure knew he wasn't _stupid_ enough to miss _**this**_blatant trap.

When Piccolo reached the gateway to the rose garden, he noticed two very important things. Firstly, the earth immediately underneath the main gate had been disturbed and covered up with fresh sod. (Immediately, he was forced to revise his summation of Vegeta's intelligence) Secondly, Vegeta himself was present in the garden, lounging in a chaise that had been strategically pointed toward the main gate.

From these two pieces of information, he felt that it was painfully obvious that this spot was a trap. It seemed harmless, really—but it seemed a little too simple. He'd probably put something down there-- like those pestilent aphids—to enhance the …_experience._

Normally, he would simply opt to fly over it—but the Saiyan had already locked onto his presence, and his cavalier gaze dared him to chicken out and hover over the spot.

Normally, he would have. He was far above such silly childish stunts like this and had far more serious concerns to attend to than playing prankster with Short-stack. But more than anything else, he knew that if he did, he would give the Saiyan the satisfaction of knowing that he was afraid to stand up to him.

That he could best him with his deviousness.

Hell no.

That just wouldn't do.

Compelled to save face as he was, that didn't mean that he had to walk right into the trap like a witless imbecile—there was a rarely used side entrance to the garden that he could use to get in._ Score one for me._

So he headed down that path, encouraged when he saw Vegeta's sneer fade somewhat, looking for all the world like he had lost his prey. "Well, go ahead, Saiyan. Damn me to hell because I—"

FOOOOMP!

A perfectly normal patch of grass seemed to collapse beneath Piccolo's feet, giving way to a dark tunnel. Gravity had grabbed a hold of Piccolo and hauled him into the hole before he could react, sending him plunging down into a rapidly darkening abyss.

"VEGEEEEEEEETAAAAAAA!!!!!!"

He lashed out with his hands, trying to grip the side of the abyss, but couldn't get a grip on the sleek, oddly slippery walls. Too panicked to conjure up the power of flight, he continued to careen into the darkness…

Mysteriously, he could hear the sound of churning waters, which grew louder with every passing second.

_What is that?_

Before he could conjure up another coherent thought, he passed a message, scrawled onto a piece of cardboard.

HAVE A NICE DAY!

He then plunged into the swirling waters below, and was swept away with the tide.

"Umm… did you just hear that? It sounded like somebody shouting," Bunny gabbed in her trademark, ever-bubbly trill. "Oh, well. I'm sure I'm just imagining it. Tea, Vegeta_-kun_?"

As she filled his cup, she completely missed the Cheshire grin that spread across his face.

Piccolo's subterranean experience was less than enjoyable. While he was moderately thankful that he had, in fact, been dropped into a storm water drain as opposed to the city sewer, he wasn't particularly thrilled to be bobbing along underneath the city streets with leaves and garbage for the better part of three hours….

Ordinarily, he would have just blasted his way out of there. He decided not to take the risk, because other utility lines may have been in close proximity, and he didn't relish the idea of igniting the gas lines and taking out a city block just to get out of this hell-hole.

It would be more trouble than it was worth.

Thankfully however, he seemed to be nearing the exit…

To his credit, Piccolo didn't even snarl as he sauntered in to the house after sunset. Everything, from his turban down to his shoes, was soaked with the brackish, filthy water he had been bobbing in all afternoon. Now the clothes were beginning to sour, and mottled blotches of diluted oil and biological scum had begun to become visible on his cape.

On his way back to CC, at least four people mistook him for a severely ill vagrant.

He didn't even bother to say anything to them, even when they threw quarters at him.

He was too busy thinking about what he was going to do to that nasty little shit when he got back.

_He would have words with the little dwarf, for sure—but that didn't mean that he was just going to forget this little transgression…__** hell no.**_

What had occurred today was most certainly a game changer. No longer could he pull petty little tricks and expect to win this pointless little contest of infantile audacity— no, he would have to sit down and use his cunning to draw up a plan, to fabricate a snare capable of catching the pygmy monkey and putting him in his place. _He would have to—_

"Do you mind? Get a towel; you're dripping all over the carpet."

_Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear._

"Hello, Saiyan. I suppose you think you're pretty clever now?"

"I've always been pretty clever," The Saiyan smarmed, flipping the channel distractedly. "You, obviously, are not."

The air was so thick with the Saiyan's arrogance, that the Namek could practically taste it.

"I was under the impression that we weren't aiming to cause bodily harm to each other—"

"Oh, _come off it_ and stop being so…_melodramatic_," The Saiyan jeered, flipping the channel aimlessly. "It was only six feet deep."

_How __**dare**__ that little chimp make light of __**ME!**_

"Well, listen here, you little baboon--I have news for you."

"Wha-"

*THWACK!*

All of a sudden, Piccolo split a sackful of quarters (and a few bricks) over Vegeta's oversized head, showering the stupid git in silly silver coins and dust.

"Wipe that smug grin off of your face, _Capuchin, _because I haven't quit yet," Piccolo chuckled as he watched Vegeta try to figure out _what the hell_ just happened. "Prepare to be humbled, little man."

With that warning, he strutted off, leaving a disoriented (but still victorious) Saiyan behind…

*End Chapter Four*

See what I mean about "Go big or go home?"

One phrase in here is a sort of homage to the legendary B/V author whose work introduced me to the wonderful world of fanfics. Can you figure out who this is?

; P

Mmg… I have a headache, and my typing skills are seriously off-kilter today… I swear, I just wrote "insteard." What kind of word is that?!! It isn't a word…

I'm going to bury my head in a pillow now and cry about _Prince of Persia._

An update should be up within the next two weeks—can't give a specific date, because I have a busy college schedule. But it will come, don't worry.

Hats


End file.
